Chapter 24: Path of Waiting
The morning in Plaridel was shrouded in a heavy silence following the mansion's explosion, the lingering smoke serving as a testament to Hustisya's fury. Erik, known as Ifugao, stood at the edge of a narrow alley, his heart brimming with frustration. The images from the previous night—the lifeless guards, the bound captives, and Hustisya's gun aimed at the Spaniard—haunted his mind relentlessly.
"This isn't the justice we need," he whispered, his fists clenched tightly. "I must speak with her. She has to stop killing the Spaniards."
Driven by resolve, Erik began his search as Ifugao. His white hair gleamed under the sun, his red sword hung at his waist, and his steps were filled with purpose. He scoured the rooftops, peering down with hope, but his efforts proved fruitless. Disheartened, he decided to revert to his boyish form as Erik, allowing him to roam the town more freely.
Throughout the day, he wandered Plaridel's streets—the marketplace where Filipinos sold their wares, the alleys where children hid from Spanish soldiers, and the churches echoing with the prayers of the elderly. Yet, there was no trace of Hustisya.
"Where can I find you?" he asked the wind, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
As the sun began to set, he refused to give up, venturing into other barangays. When night fell, darkness enveloped the town, and the lights from Spanish homes guided his path. In a shadowy corner, he heard the cry of an elderly woman.
"Don't take my money!" her voice trembled with fear. From the darkened alley, a thief armed with a knife emerged, dragging his victim. His face was masked. "Be quiet, or I'll kill you!" he shouted, raising the blade. But before he could strike, an arnis stick flew through the air, striking his hand and forcing him to drop the knife.
In a swift motion, Ifugao leapt from the rooftop, his red sword glinting as he struck the fallen weapon, sending it skittering across the ground.
"You cannot harm innocent people just for money!" he declared, his voice resonating with authority. The thief, seized by panic, turned to flee, but Ifugao acted swiftly. Raising his gun, he fired a precise shot at the man's foot, causing him to stumble and fall. With deft hands, Ifugao bound the thief to a post with rope and returned the money to the elderly woman.
"Thank you, hero!" she exclaimed, her eyes brimming with gratitude as she clutched her savings.
"The night is too deep now—hurry home," Ifugao advised, waving as she walked away.
Yet, as he bid farewell, a cold breeze swept through, and from the shadows emerged Hustisya. Her pink hair danced in the wind, her red cape flowed gracefully, and her white mask bore a shining "H." "Thank you for what you did," she said softly, her voice laced with respect. "Hustisya," Ifugao acknowledged, their gazes locking in a tense silence, as if each were gauging the other's next move.
Ifugao remained still, his eyes fixed on Hustisya. "I am not your enemy," he said, his tone calm yet firm. "I am a Sugo like you. My only desire is the safety of our people."
Hustisya stared at him, her eyes filled with curiosity, and slowly nodded. "I know you, and I recognize you, Ifugao—the famed female hero who battled terrorists and Spaniards," she said.
"Really? You know me?" Ifugao asked, surprised.
"Of course! Everyone has seen your bravery, and truthfully, I admire you, Ifugao," she replied, her voice thick with emotion.
"Are you here as an enemy or an ally?" she inquired cautiously.
"I am not an enemy—I've wanted to meet you to talk," Ifugao assured her.
Hustisya stepped closer, extending her hand in greeting. "I am the chosen one of Bulacan," she introduced herself.
Ifugao accepted her handshake, grateful that she had finally engaged with him. He expressed his joy at meeting another Sugo and was astonished to learn she had seen videos of him.
"I rarely watch news—I have no time, and I don't know what others say about me. I avoid television because I fear the threats from Spaniards wanting to capture me," he confessed.
Hustisya gently took his hand, her touch reassuring. "No matter what others say against you, Ifugao, many admire and believe in you. Though some try to tarnish your name in the news, I am one who knows you are a true hero."
Ifugao was speechless, his cheeks flushing with shy gratitude. "Th-thank you. It's good to know you believe in me."
"The first time I saw you in a video, I was truly amazed," Hustisya continued.
"I never expected to see a woman fighting alone against Spaniards and terrorists—you became my inspiration. You've been my idol, and your courage gave me strength."
To Ifugao's surprise, she embraced him tightly, her arms filled with gratitude. "At first, I was terrified," she whispered. "I knew I was a chosen one, but I was scared—alone, just a woman against countless Spaniards. I wondered, what chance do I have against them? But when I saw you, a woman bravely fighting for what's right, it ignited a courage in me. I've endured this town for so long, witnessing daily the oppression of my people by the Spaniards. I wanted to save them, but I was afraid because I had no one."
"Is that so?" Ifugao forced a smile, masking his concern.
"One day, I tried to save someone and succeeded," Hustisya added.
"In that moment, I felt like a hero like you. I realized I could use the deity's power to save others, and I want to continue until the abusive Spaniards vanish from Plaridel—no, from all of Bulacan."
Ifugao's expression turned somber as he listened, then asked, "Is that why you kill the Spaniards?"
"The Spaniards are too sinful, and the law they enforce can't punish them—so we Filipinos need someone to act to deliver justice," she explained with determination.
"Isn't that our role? We're heroes, fighting the Spaniards' abuses," she asserted confidently.
Ifugao smiled faintly, but his heart sank with dismay, as if recalling a troubling memory. He lowered his gaze, his spirit divided by her words. "I understand what you're saying," he replied.
"But are you truly serious about this?"
"Huh? What do you mean? Of course I am—I'm a hero like you," she said cheerfully.
But Ifugao shook his head, sorrow etched on his face. "Because of what you're doing, Spaniards are dying—is that really what you want?"
"My resolve is firm," Hustisya answered, her eyes blazing with determination. "Like you, I want to save the Filipinos. I am the one delivering justice to the oppressed and abused."
Before she could elaborate, Ifugao grasped her shoulders, his tone grave. "We are not the same, Hustisya," he said sadly.
"Huh?" she responded, confused.
"If you continue killing, you'll only bring more danger upon yourself and endanger the Filipinos. I can't comprehend why you don't see the consequences of your actions." Stunned,
Hustisya's eyes widened. "Are you saying what I'm doing is wrong? I'm doing this to help others!"
"I know, and your intent is noble," Ifugao explained calmly but firmly. "But your methods are not right."
"Not right? What's wrong with what I'm doing? I'm fighting for what's just, punishing the guilty—what's wrong with that?!" she protested.
"Yes, you're right, Hustisya—you punish criminals and help others, but you strip them of their right to live and change," Ifugao countered.
"This isn't what you should be doing. Because of this, others don't see you as a hero—you're a vigilante. You've taken the law into your own hands. "
" I question whether this is truly for the Filipinos or for your own desire to kill Spaniards."
Hustisya recoiled, stepping back in disbelief, unable to fathom Ifugao's words, which seemed to overlook her struggles and intentions. His words ignited her anger. "You don't know what the Filipinos in Plaridel endure!" she shouted, her fists clenched.
"You have no right to judge me! What I do is justified—they're the ones inflicting pain on our hearts every day we endure!"
Ifugao clarified, "I'm not here to be your enemy or to label you as evil," his voice filled with compassion. "I'm here to mend this, to convince you to change your ways. Killing Spaniards isn't the solution to your fight. That's not justice—if you persist, you're no different from terrorists who kill based on their own views of right and wrong."
"Terrorist?!" Hustisya froze, stunned by the label.
"You know nothing! You don't understand what it means to be a Filipino in this town!" she cried, her rage overflowing. In an instant, she unleashed her power—the air swirled, and ropes materialized, binding Ifugao to the post where the thief was tied.
"You can't understand because you haven't felt our pain!" she screamed, her eyes brimming with tears and anguish. Bowing her head, her chest heaved as she explained,
"I thought we'd get along since we both care for the Filipinos. But you're right—we're different."
"Please, Hustisya, listen to me," Ifugao pleaded.
"I deeply respect you as a hero, Ifugao, so I beg you: don't interfere with what I'm doing. Leave my town. I will save Plaridel no matter what. If you meddle further, I'll consider you an enemy," she declared boldly.
In a flash, Hustisya vanished like a ghost, leaving Ifugao bound, his heart heavy with sorrow.
"I can't stop her," he murmured, his head bowed. He knew her methods were wrong and feared a repeat of Urdaneta's tragedy if he didn't intervene. Yet, he also realized that pursuing this would pit him against her. Closing his eyes, his mind swirled with confusion and disappointment.
The next day, as Georgia, Hustisya returned to her ordinary life—selling flowers at the market to earn for her family. Her small basket overflowed with roses and hibiscus, but her mind was turbulent, burdened by guilt from the previous night. As she sold her flowers, the surrounding Filipinos smiled, yet her heart carried a heavy load. That afternoon, carrying a modest sum of money and food—a small sack of rice and fish—she returned to their hut.
Inside, they shared dinner with her grandmother, Maria, and grandfather, Mateo. But Lola Maria noticed the sadness in Georgia's eyes. "my georgia, is something wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as she held the girl's hand.
"I'm fine, Lola, maybe just tired," Georgia replied, though her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"You don't need to bear your troubles alone, dear," Lola Maria said, her eyes wise and gentle.
"If something weighs on your heart, tell me. It will help lighten your burden."
Smiling gratefully, Georgia thanked her grandmother. But moments later, her expression shifted, and she asked sadly,
"Lola, what if something I believe what is right is wrong to others? Should I change it?"
Uncertain of her granddaughter's meaning, Lola Maria advised, "If you're worried that others disapprove of your actions, it might indeed be wrong. If you doubt your deeds, perhaps you haven't shown them to others in the right way." She elaborated,
"There are things beyond our control, but that's no excuse to wrong others. No one can judge what's right or wrong for you, but I urge you to think carefully about your decisions. One wrong doesn't correct another, so consider your choices wisely."
Georgia gazed at her grandmother, then asked boldly, "Can I share a story with you, Lola?" Lola Maria smiled, her eyes filled with love.
"I'm ready to listen, my dear. Trust in me." Georgia took her grandmother's hand, her eyes welling with tears.
"Will you accept me even if I've done something sinful?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear. Shocked, Lola Maria embraced her tightly, her hug brimming with love.
"I don't know what you mean, child, but whatever it is, you're still my beloved. I'm here to stand by you."
Encouraged, Georgia confessed her turmoil. "I'm so confused, Lola. What I fight for is seen as wrong by others. I know in my heart I should do it, but because of this, some are angry with me, and I fear being despised by all. All I want is a better life for many and an end to the abuse of our people. I never meant to be bad. I don't want hatred, but I feel I have no other choice." Lola Maria's face paled with fright.
"Child, are you doing something wrong? Please, never harm others, no matter what!"
"I'm not a criminal, Lola," Georgia replied emotionally. "But I do something—I fight criminals and abusive Spaniards." Her grandmother gasped, horrified.
"My God, child! I told you never to approach or challenge the Spaniards. They're monsters—I don't want you harmed!"
"I'm okay, Lola, please don't worry about me," Georgia reassured with a smile, hoping to ease her grandmother's fears.
She fell silent for a moment, then asked, "Lola, can I tell you a secret? Something others, even Lolo, mustn't know?" Lola Maria nodded, her expression curious.
"You can trust me, dear." Georgia's body began to glow, and slowly, her form transformed—her pink hair and red cape emerged, revealing her as Hustisya.
"I am Hustisya, Lola," she said, her eyes heavy with sadness. "I am the chosen one selected by Ada Wawa, the guardian of Bulacan." Lola Maria's hand flew to her mouth in disbelief.
"My child… I never imagined this," she whispered, her embrace unwavering. "You're the vigilante the Spaniards hunt—your actions are so dangerous."
"I'm a hero, Lola," Hustisya asserted bravely.
"I want to save the Filipinos, Lola," she added, her voice breaking. Lola Maria hugged her again, her worry for her granddaughter's safety against the Spaniards palpable.